


The Concept of Religious Love

by tearstrung



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Teenagers, Angst, BaekYeol - Freeform, Basically Baekhyun and Chanyeol growing up and falling in love, Blasphemy, ChanBaek - Freeform, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Growing Up, Homophobia, M/M, Religion, Teen Romance, brief quick smut, i like to talk about china plates in this and vodka and jesus and secrets, mentions of abuse, with a a lot of repeated metaphors and stuff idk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-19
Updated: 2018-09-19
Packaged: 2019-07-03 13:03:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15819426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tearstrung/pseuds/tearstrung
Summary: “that boy,” he starts. yoora doesn’t look. he clears his throat, “that boy, the one on the porch.”yoora sighs, heavy. “yeah? what about him?”chanyeol doesn’t think. “he’s so pretty.”yoora closes her mouth and turns to chanyeol. she blinks hard and uncoordinated, looking ajared. she brings her hand forward to grip at chanyeol's shoulder, leaning in, “don’t let daddy hear you say that.”chanyeol is the one to blink now, and his skin gets cold. almost as cold as the window against his nose. his head is spinning like the tumbling snow. “why?”“he might think you hate god.”





	The Concept of Religious Love

**Author's Note:**

> an old piece for an old friend,
> 
> enjoy x

  
  


“you need to eat more,” yoora tuts, as her fingers wrap around chanyeol’s bony wrist, and her nail scratches harshly at the bone that threatens to break through skin. his body is yanked forward, and it causes her nail polish chipped fingernails to only dig farther into his tanned teenager skin. a piercing kiss is left temporarily where her thumb was, and a sparkle lays with it. 

 

he looks down, trying to coordinate his legs. “i  _ do  _ eat.” there’s no response, and he repeats himself, a little louder. his tongue gets caught on the chap of his lips, and she turns to look at him as he sputters out words. if she understands them, she doesn’t answer. 

 

she pulls him down the stairs, and he stumbles, his socks sliding on wooden steps. his legs lacking meat wobble, and he regrets only chewing at the crust of his bread until dinner was over, and father sent them to their rooms. his knees wheeze out dust, and his ankles plead for chanyeol to slow down. “where are you taking me, yoora?” 

 

her hand tightens it’s grip. his skin is turning white. “ _ noona,”  _ she corrects, “and the new neighbors are here.” 

 

they press their curious teen noses against the large window in their dining room. the window hardly sees the dining room - rarely comes into contact with the hickory table and the seats that creak with every move of the arm, every tilt of the mouth, every word that speaks sin and not the ink of the bible, the blood of christ. they stopped using it when father stepped down from the church. yoora blames dad, while chanyeol, god. mother never speaks of it, her mouth shakes too much when it’s mentioned. they sit around the kitchen now. the plastic table has stains, but so does mother’s skin.  

 

the cold air hugs the glass, turning their noses kiss pink, winter’s lips giving them an innocent blush. chanyeol’s wrist breathes again, creeks out shaky breaths as yoora let’s go, and places her palms to the window, leaving her fingerprint there, too. 

 

“they have kids,” yoora whispers, and her words fog the window. 

 

chanyeol tiptoes to look, his legs still wobbly - but he’s used to that. the snow is still cascading down from the thick clouds. the sky is mimicking china plates, like the ones that titter in the tall wooden cabinet that matches the hickory table. the plates hide the liquor. 

 

the snow makes it hazy, but chanyeol squints, rubs at his eyes, and sees the moving truck parked in the tilted driveway. men move back and forth with boxes, a big plaid couch and a blue loveseat to match. it reminded chanyeol of the pictures mother has in the books under the coffee table. the years before chanyeol was born, when mother was a sheet of happy white paper and father still had jesus in his eyes. yoora was missing teeth then. 

 

he can see the flush of their faces, the shake of skin and shoulders that quiver back and forth due to thin layers of warmth and thinner skin. 

 

“where are the kids?” chanyeol murmurs, and he tries to stand taller on his pointed toes.

 

“on the porch. two boys.” 

 

he looks, and the two differ in height. one dashes off to help the moovers, his legs long and thick, the obvious older brother. yoora watches him, with a smile on her small red mouth, while red rises up to the apples of her cheeks. chanyeol turns to look at the boy still under the white overhead of the porch, and he’s purple, pink and…  _ pretty _ .

 

yoora nudges chanyeol, and her elbow is too sharp. but not as sharp as his own. “ _ chanyeol _ , how old do you think that one is? i mean, maybe i can show him around at school…” excitement is evident in her voice, and he looks back at the older brother, then carries his eyes to the porch-boy. 

 

yoora continues to talk, is always on about boys, love she wants. always talks about flowers she’ll have in her hair and the ones tucked away in chanyeol’s suit. she would twirl around in her room on her arched feet and walk over to chanyeol - pulling at the shoulders of his shirt. “ _ if you don’t eat more the suit will slide off your shoulders, you’re all bones.”  _ she dreams of lace and pearls, and mother always smiles at her with pearly eyes. glassy. 

 

the younger boy reminds chanyeol of a  _ glory flower _ . he’s bundled up in a puffy red jacket, and it only makes his cheeks look more warm as it meets winter. his hair is tucked under a beanie, while loose ends flutter in the wind. but he smiles. he smiles bright and real and  _ pretty _ . 

 

mother and yoora always talk about pretty things. father sometimes, too, when yoora has her hair pushed back into a tight bun. he’ll lick the palm of his hand, and brush it across her hair, where baby pieces flutter free - against the rules of the bible. he’ll lean back and whistle, and mother claps, one comment after another of how pretty she is. yoora is pretty, chanyeol thinks - even if it is his sister that always talks about him and his bones. 

 

this boy isn’t pretty like yoora, or diamonds his mother fancies - not the gold around cigarettes that father smokes or the gold band around his ring finger that seems to have left it’s spot. the boy is pretty in a way that makes chanyeol stop leaving breath marks on the window, and his fingers prod at the glass.

 

“that boy,” he starts. yoora doesn’t look. he clears his throat, “ _ that boy _ , the one on the porch.”

 

yoora sighs, heavy. “yeah? what about him?”

 

chanyeol doesn’t think. “he’s so pretty.” 

 

yoora closes her mouth and turns to chanyeol. she blinks hard and uncoordinated, looking ajared. she brings her hand forward to grip at chanyeol’s shoulder, leaning in, “don’t let daddy hear you say that.”

 

chanyeol is the one to blink now, and his skin gets cold. almost as cold as the window against his nose. his head is spinning like the tumbling snow. “why?”

 

“he might think you hate god.” 

  
  


❅❅❅ 

  
  


chanyeol has soap wedged between his teeth, and he’s sitting on the lid of his toilet. 

 

_ he might think you hate god  _

 

he bites harder. the burning taste travels down his throat, falling into the crevices of his trachea. his eyes prick with tears, and he scrubs the heels of his palms into his eye sockets, seeing stars behind his lids.

 

chanyeol doesn’t want father mad, doesn’t want to hear his mother cry into her pillows anymore. he had found a new bar of soap and pushed it into his own mouth, didn’t want to speak words that would revoke father’s  _ god _ , even if the man seemed to ruin all that their family was. he hoped to clean them out. this was always the method that father had used.

 

he thought of the boy next door, repeated over and over again that he wasn’t  _ pretty _ . 

_ not pretty not pretty not pretty — SO PRETTY.  _

 

he drops his head and cries into his hands, scraping shreds of soap under his tongue. 

  
  


❅❅❅ 

  
  


the boy is named baekhyun, and chanyeol and yoora’s parents invite his family of three over for dinner.

 

“do you not talk?” baekhyun asks, as they sit in chanyeol’s room. 

 

his parents had shooed the kids off,  _ adult-talk _ , they called it. yoora mumbled about it, calling it gem-gossip and god-talk, talk about mothers flawless skin when really makeup covered her arms and neck, because father never hid his anger well. they’ll discuss china plates and sip on tea, but they won’t touch the cobalt blue and white plates — can’t have the liquor showing. they’ll grin about the quaint little town and the warm summers it has, the laughter of children that ring in the streets and how angels protect all. 

 

yoora had pulled baekbeom off, convinced the two elder teenagers wouldn’t like whatever chanyeol and baekhyun did. child things. yoora looked too comfortable with baekbeom, and they took hands easily. maybe they did have school together.

 

chanyeol and baekhyun were on the floor, thirteen and peach cheeks. they had cards, but they were still stacked. 

 

chanyeol’s fingers grip into his pants, and he glares at baekhyun’s fingers - the mole on his thumb. “i do talk. i’m just as old as you are.”

 

baekhyun shrugs. chanyeol can hear it in the crinkle of his jacket. “i know adults that don’t talk.”

 

chanyeol looks up at him with furrowed brows, confused and ignorant. “maybe they don’t have anything good to say. maybe, they just speak of sin.”

 

the boy before him frowns, and chanyeol suddenly feels bad. he’s too pretty— _ nice  _ to look so glum. “everyone sins, don’t they?”

 

“i…” chanyeol thinks. “i guess you’re right.”

 

“so maybe they just don’t want to speak.” baekhyun suggests, picking at the deck of cards. he has a  _ king of hearts  _ in his hand. “the world is pretty sinful, so maybe they don’t want to waste breath on it.”

 

chanyeol thinks baekhyun should be a preacher. preach real things. 

  
  


❅❅❅ 

  
  


chanyeol has decided it is okay to call baekhyun pretty. he just doesn’t need to tell anyone. he thinks yoora has forgotten about it. 

 

but he thinks _pretty_ every time baekhyun smiles, with flowers blooming underneath his tongue, and flourishing their way between his teeth. his laugh sends pollen fluttering in the air between them, tickling chanyeol’s nose and making the rabbit in his ribcage _kick_ _kick kick,_ brushing the underside of his swelling heart. baekhyun is prettiest when he’s speaking truths, tracing fingers across the glass of chanyeol’s window, drawing stories. he speaks poet, speaks the innocence of the world and chanyeol lays on his bed with curling toes and listens. 

 

chanyeol asks him one night, over a year since they’ve met. “baekhyun?”

 

“yes?” he has himself draped over the chair in the corner of chanyeol’s room. his shorts are high on his thighs. he looks cold. 

 

chanyeol blinks, brings his gaze back to his star-decorated ceiling. the stars glow, an ugly green-grey, faded. “do you find anything pretty?”

 

baekhyun shifts in the seat, and chanyeol knows that the boy is looking at him. his cheeks heat, but he continues to count the corners of all of the stars.  _ one two three four five.  _

 

“lots of things are pretty.”

 

“like what?”

  
“yoora is pretty, i think.” baekhyun hums. chanyeol flinches. “but yoora is  _ hyung’s _ . the china plates your mother has downstairs are pretty - they’re like stories you get to relive.”

 

“yoora  _ is _ pretty.” chanyeol agrees, even if it’s bitter.  _ yoora you’re so pretty _ , his father smiles behind his eyelids.

 

baekhyun hums. “yes. you’re pretty too, chanyeol. in the summer, you’re like…  _ caramel _ . all tanned.”

 

chanyeol turns to baekhyun, his eyes wide. “do you really mean that?”

 

baekhyun may look back - it’s too hard to tell in the dark. “i don’t lie about pretty things, chanyeol.”

  
  


❅❅❅ 

  
  


baekhyun got a treehouse this year and yoora got her first hickey. 

 

“aren’t we too old for this?” chanyeol mumbles, legs long and uncoordinated for climbing up a tree-ladder. 

 

summer  _ two-thousand-seven  _ and chanyeol grew six inches in leg and hardly any in torso. baekhyun always jokes about how the length makes him bow-legged, makes him walk all wobbly and odd-footed. chanyeol mumbles about how he’s always has been wobbly. yoora still calls him bones, even if he eats a bit more than two years ago. 

 

baekhyun is already climbing into the treehouse, above chanyeol. he was still waiting for his growth spurt, legs still short and curvy. he awaits growing into his loins. 

 

“let’s not grow up, chanyeol.”

 

chanyeol settles in, “okay.”

 

the sun is bleeding through the wood of the tree house, but enough shade is provided to keep them from melting like the popsicles that baekhyun carried up for them. they’re dripping around the sticks, and baekhyun pushes one over, nudging chanyeol’s calve with his socked toe. 

 

“sticky,” chanyeol mutters, nose scrunching. 

 

“but tasty.” baekhyun hums, wrapping his pink lips around the orange cream pop. chanyeol watches for a second too long, he thinks, but his mind is screaming  _ pretty _ , and he blushes as he turns his head. 

 

“yeah.”

 

baekhyun smacks around the popsicle, and he slurps loud and proud,  _ yum-ing  _ as he eats his way down to the stick. chanyeol’s gets orange stick all around his fingertips, and he hands it to baekhyun, who gladly accepts. 

 

“i think yoora-noona and hyung are getting serious.” baekhyun says, mumbling around the sweetness in his mouth.

 

chanyeol sucks off his sticky fingers, before brushing them on his shorts. his father would get onto him, and mother would just mention washing them.  _ enough, woman _ , his father would hiss. “why do you think that?”

 

“don’t tell okay?” baekhyun says, and he bites off the bottom of the cold treat, dropping the stick to the floor. chanyeol nods in understanding. baekhyun scoots close to chanyeol, his knee slotting between both of chanyeol’s. chanyeol flinches, baekhyun whispering, “i think they’re about to have sex.” 

 

chanyeol sputters, “no - not  _ yoora _ .” 

 

baekhyun leans back, onto his palms. his shoulders shrug, and chanyeol’s feels his own shoulders shake. 

 

_ (he might think you hate god) _

 

“why?”

 

“they kiss a lot.” baekhyun says. “they come to my house and kiss. they touch each other a lot.” 

 

chanyeol’s cheeks are struck with shame, and he’s shaking his head, hands flying to his ears. “no no  _ no _ , they won’t do that.”

 

“it’s normal, chanyeol.”

 

“no!” chanyeol says it too loud, and baekhyun is frowning again, taken aback, and chanyeol wants to say sorry but his head is throbbing. “yoora won’t… noona  _ won’t _ .” her words echo in his head, and so does his father’s, and oh lord, daddy is going to hurt her. he’s going to yell at her for hating his  _ god. _

 

baekhyun inches closer, an apologetic look in his eyes. “i’m sorry… should i—” 

 

chanyeol tumbles down the stairs, baekhyun yelling at him from the top of the tree.

 

yoora is whistling when he gets home, and the radio is playing with some classical music. 

 

“ _ noona _ —” he breathes, his chest heaving. she spins in her dress, and she’s all kinds of pretty, with the brightest smile on her face, flushed cheeks and curled hair. 

 

“chanyeol, you’re so red.” her voice is airy, even if it should be of worry. he just looks at her, and his eyes trail to her neck. it’s a discoloration different than their mother’s, who is from father’s ring or his godly-fingertips. this one has little marks, teeth, a pad of tongue,  _ sin. _

 

yoora looks confused, watching chanyeol stand with shaky hands and irregular breaths. “chanyeol, are you okay?” she moves forward with outstretched hands. 

 

he blenches away, eyes narrowed. she gasps. “you better cover that, noona - you don’t want father to see that. he might think you hate god.”

 

she gasps again, horror struck in her glassy eyes. 

  
  


❅❅❅ 

  
  


father yells at yoora, and chanyeol sneaks to baekhyun’s house.

 

“my mom is crying.” chanyeol says. he looks at baekhyun who is in bed, pulling the blanket up for chanyeol to climb in. chanyeol digs his fingers into his eyes to push away the unwanted tears, and crawls in with baekhyun. 

 

baekhyun may be smaller, but he’s wiser and stronger than chanyeol is. he forgives, and he knows they all sin but he still  _ loves _ . he’s wrapping his arms around chanyeol’s shaking shoulders, and pulls him into his chest, even if baekhyun’s toes are poking at chanyeol’s knees. 

 

“i’m sorry, chanyeol.” baekhyun mumbles, and the words are pressed to chanyeol’s hair. “i hope yoora-noona is okay, your mother, too.”

 

“i should be home.” chanyeol scolds himself, bringing his thumb and forefinger to pinch at his thin skin of his arm. “i should protect them. my father is a mean man.”

 

baekhyun begins to rub a hand up and down his back. chanyeol breathes a little easier. “your father is lost, chanyeol. i think he’s too caught up in his own sin to forgive himself and get better. to be better for you and noona and your mother.”

 

chanyeol doesn’t speak, just buries his head into baekhyun’s small, thin chest. he sleeps like that, with a  _ thank-you _ on his tongue, his legs tangled with baekhyun’s and the small palm rubbing stars into his back.

  
  


❅❅❅ 

  
  


chanyeol finds himself in baekhyun’s bed a lot, the next year. 

 

they’re aging to sixteen, and chanyeol doesn’t know if this would be considered innocent anymore. baekhyun’s hips only widened, and his loins grew into him rather than the other way around. chanyeol’s legs lengthened, and his torso broadened. 

 

yoora is a senior now, bordering adulthood, and baekbeom graduated a year before. yoora no longer wears hickey-pearl necklaces, but rather real ones that shimmer under the church lights. baekbeom drinks too much, and his tongue sparkles vodka. 

 

“i’m too small to be the big spoon.” baekhyun mutters, hand pressed to chanyeol’s side, slipped under the thin of his top. it’s warm, and his skin tingles.

 

_ (he might think you hate god) _

 

chanyeol squirms slightly, and baekhyun hisses at him, pinches his side. chanyeol squeaks out a laugh, and punches baekhyun’s small chest. he feels a chuckle rumble through baekhyun’s chest when his ear presses back against it. “you’re better at being the big spoon, though.”

 

“i guess,” baekhyun nods, his chin grazing chanyeol’s head. “but what if i need protecting?”

 

chanyeol blinks, “then tell me.”

 

there’s a moment of silence. “i need protecting, chanyeol.” and his voice breaks off in the middle of it, making chanyeol’s eyes flick open. he pulls back to see baekhyun with his eyes squeezed shut, trails of tears stained to his cheeks, and a new one sprouting from the corner of his left eye. 

 

“oh,  _ baekhyun _ ,” chanyeol mumbles, and he’s the one to wrap his arms around shaky shoulders, this time. 

 

chanyeol doesn’t ask questions, because their living room is decorated in alcoholic bottles, and baekhyun’s mother stays out purposely - baekbeom univiting. he rubs a hand up and down baekhyun’s spine, and traces the grooves with his fingers. what he does next,  _ does  _ raise questions in his head, and his father would call him a god-hater.

 

he pulls baekhyun back slightly, and leans in to press his lips softly to his forehead. baekhyun’s eyes stay shut, and chanyeol moves down to kiss each of his eyelids that flutter under his shaking mouth. his fingers continue to move up and down his backbone, while his mouth whispers promises into his skin, brushing his forehead, eyelids, cheekbones, chin, nose. 

 

“i’m always here to protect you, baekhyun.”

  
  


❅❅❅ 

  
  


yoora graduates with honors, a pearl pinned in her hair. her dress is blue, and she’s just as much of a story as the china plates. she looks pretty, with her wide smile, and a diploma in her grasp.

 

baekhyun comes with his mother, and they both congratulate her, baekhyun handing her a bouquet of roses and glory flowers. they fit the occasion, chanyeol thinks. the flowers are pretty, too. 

 

but baekhyun is prettiest. he’s pressed in trousers that hug his thighs and the curve of his hips. they’re grey, and they compliment the white of his button up, the shag of his hair. his eyes are gleaming, and chanyeol wants to kiss his eyelids like he did months ago, with a rabbit in his chest and a blush creeping up his neck. 

 

_ adult-talk _ happens again, and chanyeol and baekhyun walk off, hands dug in pockets. chanyeol, more than anything wants to hold his hand. 

 

“we have two years, huh?” baekhyun says, and they find a bench under a large tree, where they can breathe and rest their backs, prop their aching feet. chanyeol looks over at him, and the space between baekhyun’s buttons on his top is poked open, and warm, sandy skin lays beneath. his lids flutter. “then, you and i will be the big graduates.”

 

“yeah.” chanyeol nods, and he stares at the grass to forget the color of baekhyun’s skin. 

 

baekhyun sighs, loud and heavy. “your sister looked happy, today.”

 

“i think she is. she finally gets to go.” 

 

“your parents did, too.”

 

“they were—they  _ are. _ ” says chanyeol. “my father is really proud. he hasn’t drank in a few days.”

 

hair is fluttered through the air, and baekhyun is beaming, facing chanyeol now. “god, chanyeol, that’s so great. i’m so glad, really.” he’s smiling so wide and chanyeol  _ hurts _ .

 

“yeah, me too.” his throat aches, and he holds in confessions. 

 

baekhyun snickers to his left, and chanyeol glances at him - regretting it because his body numbs. baekhyun’s eyes sparkle, and he leans back, running his hands up and down his thick thighs. “i guess today was worth dressing up for—a real celebration.”

 

chanyeol doesn’t think. “you look really beautiful, baekhyun.” his hand throws itself over his mouth, and his pulse quickens, threatens to tear through the skin on his neck; vein exposed, humiliated. 

 

“ _ what _ ?” 

 

“no— _ no,  _ i didn’t mean to…” 

 

“chanyeol, do you really mean that?” 

 

chanyeol turns to look at him, and it’s a flashback behind his eyelids. baekhyun’s eyes aren’t wide like chanyeol’s were, but he’s staring at him, genuine interest flickering in his warm irises. 

 

chanyeol can’t speak, “i…”

 

“ _ chanyeol _ ,” and chanyeol thinks this is pleading. “did you mean that? really mean it?” baekhyun has desperation tilting on the tip of his tongue, and chanyeol can sense a frown coming and he speaks fast and dire.

 

“yes.  _ yes. _ i-i don’t lie about pretty things.”

 

chanyeol kisses him, because he really doesn’t think. but maybe baekhyun doesn’t think either, because he’s kisses him back, mouth molding together with soft, teenage prodding hands. 

 

kissing baekhyun’s mouth is different than the veins of his eyelids or the apples of his cheeks, but more like instinct. his hands find baekhyun's cheek without effort, and he cups baekhyun’s jaw like a china plate, and caresses it with such sincerity that baekhyun only pushes closer - to both chanyeol’s mouth and chanyeol’s warm hand against his cheek.

 

baekhyun rests his hands on chanyeol’s thighs, and they’re gripping the loose material, because chanyeol and his body are still so awkward, even if he’s less so. baekhyun is a bit more daring, and he’s taking an open-mouthed opportunity to press his velvet, plush tongue past chanyeol’s lips. chanyeol’s spine shakes, and he sees stars. 

 

it’s innocent in a way, still. there’s no filth, no other intentions. and it’s  _ beautiful. _

 

chanyeol breaks it, because he doesn’t really think and now he misses baekhyun’s lips. his lungs are close to shrivelling, and he feels his cheeks blazing, his mouth buzzing. his heart plummets, when he looks at baekhyun, his chest moving in and out, his lips shining and swollen. his eyes are twinkling and his cheeks are rosy, and chanyeol hurts so bad that he kisses baekhyun again, soft and quick.

 

he doesn’t feel guilt for kissing baekhyun, even if his father would yell at him for  _ hating god.  _ but chanyeol believes god hates him, when they get up, and shuffle back to where everyone else is. they had kissed right in front of virgin mary, and before chanyeol remembers her statue smiling, but now she looks displeased.

 

his skin crawls. 

 

_ (he might think you hate god) _

  
  


❅❅❅ 

  
  


“let’s run away.” baekhyun says, as they’re walking home from school, the sun setting too early and heat leaving their shoulders as the moon comes to shadow. 

 

yoora had left off to seoul, to find some kind of job, because being lost was better than suffocating. she offered for chanyeol to come, to rescue him, but he denied, with a crippling smile. he had to stay with baekhyun. father was back preaching, in a new church that didn’t know of the last scandal. mother got more jewelry and thicker makeup. father didn’t drink as much, and mother seemed to smile a bit easier. 

 

baekbeom was hardly at home, and neither was baekhyun’s mother, and his only company was takeout, his vinyl player, glass bottles and chanyeol, who fumbled through his window. baekhyun seemed okay, even if he was lonely. he still was glitter and sand and everything pure. 

 

chanyeol glances at baekhyun, who is crumbling under his book-ton backpack. the sun kisses the slope of his nose and the cupid’s bow of his mouth, and chanyeol believes he  _ is  _ the sun. “where to?” he takes baekhyun’s backpack, only fighting a small protest. 

 

“anywhere, as long as you’ll be with me. i don’t care.” and baekhyun is sincere. 

 

chanyeol smiles, and he kicks rocks. “okay. we can run away.” he tugs at baekhyun’s sleeve, who just grunts in response. “can we watch the sun set?”

 

they don’t do much of that really, with chanyeol’s back pressed against the bridge wall, and baekhyun sitting between his legs, hands prodding at chanyeol’s collarbones. chanyeol finds sanctuary, with his thumbs pressed into baekhyun’s soft sides, pulling him closer if it’s even possible. and it’s a kiss desperate, hot and sticky with the scratches of the day, of chalkboards and numbers that fly over heads, baekhyun’s tongue unable to wrap around the english language. but it  _ can _ wrap around chanyeol’s tongue, and chanyeol believes that he doesn’t need to speak in english - not if he can speak with the pad of his tongue and the press of his lips.

 

and it’s the first time they feel something teetering innocent;  _ lust _ , maybe. baekhyun is pliant, and he folds up so nicely before chanyeol, pressing deep into his mouth because it’s all so intoxicating with the sun bleeding orange and pink and red behind them. chanyeol palms up baekhyun’s back, and the bone arches, pressing their crotches together. chanyeol gasps, and baekhyun falters from chanyeol’s lips, ducking his head away into chanyeol’s collarbone, where his hands were just before - so obsessed. 

 

they breathe ragged, and chanyeol notices the darkness of the sky, and how his cheeks will go unseen and how he wishes he could see the red of baekhyun’s mouth, the pink that tips his ears. instead he counts the stars, with his hands softly tracing the back of baekhyun’s back.

 

“we missed the sunset.” baekhyun mumbles, shivering from chanyeol’s guitar-callused fingertips and the moon’s chill. he’s still curled up into chanyeol, but it’s wonderful. they feel so  _ free _ .

 

chanyeol draws a comet across baekhyun’s spine and makes a wish. 

  
  


❅❅❅ 

  
  


it happens at dinner, when it’s just chanyeol and his parents.

 

“chanyeol,” father says. it’s short, without the sweet. 

 

chanyeol sets down his fork, sips a quick drink of water. “yes?”

 

his father’s face is unreadable, and chanyeol glances at his mother, who is cutting into her chicken, placing it on top of her rice. her mouth is downcast, and she swallows with struggle. chanyeol looks back at his dad, and disapproval is laced in his arching brows and the corners of his mouth.

 

“what is it, father?”

 

“did you know your friend, baekhyun, is a homosexual?” his mother doesn’t choke on her food, but chanyeol does it for her, choking on air and sheer surprise. 

 

his blood goes cold, and he drinks again. “no, i wasn’t aware.”

 

“someone came forward to me at the church and told me they saw him kissing another boy on the bridge just past your school.” chanyeol has a thousand apologies and lies lined up in his head, and shame comes in, burning through his veins and causing his fingers to twitch terribly. 

 

“now, i thought about this a lot,” says his father, “and i prayed.” 

 

“yes?”

 

“you can still be friends with him. baekhyun is a… good boy. he’s just  _ lost _ .” his father states, beginning to dip a spoon into his soup. “i do not want you staying over at his house anymore. he can stay here, if it is necessary.”

 

chanyeol wants to protest, and he opens his mouth to do so, but catches the eyes of his father. his skin crawls up his neck and pulls at his hairline. he fists his pants under the table, his eyes burning.

 

“do you have something to say, chanyeol?”

 

“no. no, sir.” 

 

_ be quiet _ , he tells himself,  _ he might think you hate god _

  
  


❅❅❅

  
  


“come over.” chanyeol says, tugging his way into baekhyun’s window. 

 

there’s really no reason to do so anymore, not when baekhyun is often the only one home. but it brings back thirteen-year-old memories and years to follow, and it’s nostalgia and the present wrapped in creaky windows and baekhyun’s lace curtains that let light slip through, just enough; invites stars in like loving whispers. 

 

baekhyun is at his desk, his legs bent and pressed to his chest. “will your father allow me?”

 

“i’ve told you he won’t mind. i can just tell him you’re tired of being alone here.”

 

“well, i guess that’s not an absolute lie.” baekhyun mutters, pressing his chin to the top of his knees. 

 

chanyeol frowns, and he decides to crouch before baekhyun, sits on his knees and puts his chin on baekhyun’s folded legs. he whispers, “i’m sorry, baekhyun.”

 

baekhyun shakes his head, pouts. “don’t be.”

 

chanyeol pushes forward, kisses him. “stay over, don’t be lonely.”

 

“okay.”

  
  


❅❅❅

  
  


after dinner, and wishing chanyeol’s parents goodnight, chanyeol and baekhyun drag themselves up the second floor, and then on up to the attic, where chanyeol had turned the area into his bedroom. 

 

“i felt like i couldn’t breathe, down there.” baekhyun says, plopping himself on the end of chanyeol’s bed, as chanyeol shuts the knob behind him, waits for the soft click. 

 

chanyeol shuffles over with his big, awkward feet, and he climbs on the bed, pushing baekhyun down and laying on top of him. “i know, i’m sorry.” it’s some type of comfort.

 

baekhyun hums, and he flutters his eyes against chanyeol’s shoulder. butterfly kisses. “it’s okay. i can breathe a  _ little  _ better now.” 

 

chanyeol giggles, and baekhyun just breathes out airy laughs. they’re both bordering tired, and chanyeol places sleepy, wet kisses to baekhyun’s shoulders, his sleeve rolling off, exposing the sandy,  _ mesmerizing  _ skin. baekhyun tastes  _ so good _ , and he’s moving from the tip of his shoulder until he’s at the junction between shoulder and neck, and he’s pressing with his tongue this time, grazing his teeth. 

 

“chanyeol…” baekhyun says, all soft and languid and all types of  _ you-should-stop-but-i-don’t-want-you-to. _ and chanyeol doesn’t stop. he doesn’t want to ever stop. 

 

he’s moving around baekhyun’s neck, like he’s following the blue designs of a china plate. like he’s following the veins of a glory flower, and falling in love all over again. he’s kissing between the spaces of the bible, the  _ o  _ of  _ god _ , and the last drop of his father’s alcohol. he’s kissing pearls and making his teeth shine, making baekhyun shimmer and his tongue reaches the front of baekhyun’s neck, grazes his adam’s apple, and chanyeol would call this  _ lust _ .

 

“can i take this off?” chanyeol feels like his voice is burnt and low, and he clears his throat nervously. he tastes his father’s alcohol sitting in his throat and he wonders if that, if  _ this  _ is what euphoria feels like. baekhyun looks so awestruck and chanyeol feels love pounding through his chest and picking up the speed of his lungs, and it all hurts—so much. 

 

baekhyun nods, and he lifts his arms with a blush veiling his cheeks, his neck and the small amount of chest exposed. “yes.” 

 

chanyeol runs his fingers hesitantly up baekhyun’s thighs, his shorts already raised over his milky thighs. they’re speckled with drops of the moon and hickory leafs, moles making baekhyun the prettiest solar system chanyeol had ever seen - from the burn of his hair to the stars cascading down his eyelashes and resting in the darks of his eyes. chanyeol burns and he’s gripping baekhyun’s shirt by the hem.

 

“i’ll keep my arms up… to make it easier.” baekhyun mumbles, staring at chanyeol’s wrists. chanyeol nods, dumbly, even though baekhyun isn’t paying any attention. 

 

they’re seventeen and giddy and still learning the taste of hurt and love and which is right or wrong. but they know this is it, that  _ this  _ is right. this is love. even if the bible says otherwise.

 

chanyeol pulls the shirt up, the white cloth easily sliding right over baekhyun's head, messing up his hair more so than it already was. chanyeol’s mouth hurts, and it’s swollen and bruised and baekhyun’s teeth have left marks on his bottom lip, but he wants nothing more but to trail his lips up and down baekhyun’s soft chest, kiss the baby fat under his belly and the set of ribs that stretch under his skin. 

 

and so he does. he leans forward and pushes baekhyun down with two soft hands, bringing his mouth to his navel. baekhyun’s skin is blazing, and it quivers like thunder on chanyeol’s press of mouth, electricity shooting to his teeth and he grazes, nips at the skin beginning to be sprinkled in sweat. baekhyun is all gasps and long fingers threading in chanyeol’s hair, and chanyeol is all kisses and licks and bites, painting him like a full blown galaxy. 

 

“oh god,” says baekhyun, soft and of an innocent whimper. chanyeol has his mouth pressed in a pucker over baekhyun’s nipple, and he’s rubbing the milky way into baekhyun’s ribs, thumbs of comfort and security. “ _ chanyeol—”  _

 

“tell me if you want me to stop.” chanyeol says around the skin, moving off to kiss below it with a wet mouth. 

 

“don’t stop.” 

 

and that’s all chanyeol needs to hear, and he smiles, grins into the hollow between baekhyun’s pectorals and laughs. he’s so happy. 

 

baekhyun’s hands stop massaging circles into chanyeol’s hair, and he’s pushing him up, his small chest stuttering breaths. he sits up along with chanyeol, and he fingers at the collar of chanyeol’s shirt, his face flushed and content. “take this off, i feel silly.”

 

chanyeol laughs again, and he pushes forward to mold his mouth to baekhyun’s all while clumsily trying to rip his own shirt from his body. he hates the feeling when baekhyun’s lips part his, having to pull his black top from his neck and up over his head, and he instantly pushes forward, kissing baekhyun all over again. 

 

they’re both pressed to the bed again, and baekhyun is whispering a secret he hid under his tongue, and he shakes with embarrassment. “can we go…  _ slow _ ?” he says it when chanyeol’s hands are at his hips, pointer finger dipping under the waistband. 

 

chanyeol stops his finger, looking up at baekhyun, who has a hand over his eyes, his bottom lip sucked between his teeth. chanyeol sees a tear tilt down his cheek, coming from under his hand. chanyeol gasps, breathes, and his back shakes, moving forward.

 

his hands cup baekhyun’s cheeks. “baekhyun—”

 

“no,  _ no _ , don’t stop. i just…” baekhyun speaks in sniffles, and shame and three more tears fall.

 

“we don’t have to go any farther. really.” chanyeol whispers, brushing a thumb to catch the new tears. 

 

baekhyun shakes his head, and he removes his hand from his eyes, scrubbing his eyes with his fingers. “you’re so  _ kind _ to me, and it’s overwhelming. i feel so warm, chanyeol.” 

 

chanyeol heats, and the words tingle down his shaking spine, stopping it’s bone rattles and causing heat to stir in his gut. he doesn’t know what to say; baekhyun was always the one good with words. he was the story teller and the painter that drenched canvases with words that danced off his tongue and the stars in his eyes. so chanyeol kisses him, because he feels like it’s an answer, enough.

 

baekhyun’s hands guide chanyeol’s back to his shorts. their shorts are taken off and dropped to the floor with shaking fingers.

 

baekhyun insists on kissing, to ease the nervous fire ablaze in both of their chests; between the space of their legs. and chanyeol presses more and more to the front of baekhyun’s underwear, with hands careful and innocent and unknowing of what will come next. baekhyun responds with his mouth pressed to chanyeol’s opening and gasping, back arching like a pretty shooting star, and chanyeol falls in love over and over again.

 

he makes a wish when the shooting star bursts. baekhyun's mouth opens, his head tilting. chanyeol has never seen such a bright star.

 

chanyeol is in love, and leaves soft kisses across baekhyun’s skin. “thank you,” baekhyun says, his voice murmured, close to mum. 

 

“of course.” 

 

they card their ruined underwear, and chanyeol grabs shorts for baekhyun and himself, and they wrap up into one another. 

 

chanyeol isn't sure how this couldn't be of god, of rightness and love and all things good. but he doesn't care. not anymore. because he has his own galaxy to worship and praise, to engulf himself in.

  
  


❅❅❅

  
  


baekhyun doesn’t leave for three days, and they fall into a nightly routine of mapping each other’s bodies, chanyeol counting baekhyun’s moles and baekhyun whispering speeches into chanyeol’s ribs. 

 

baekhyun leaves when his mother calls. it’s breakfast time, and baekhyun has rice on his bottom lip and a piece of egg half way in his mouth when he digs into his pocket and answers the phone. “mom?” 

 

chanyeol’s father sips his coffee, and chanyeol tries to pretend he didn’t see the bourbon under the table. he pretends he doesn’t see the spirit mixed into his father’s facial hair, he doesn’t want to. it leaves his stomach unsettled and twisting into knots. 

 

baekhyun doesn’t think, and chanyeol can’t be mad at him because chanyeol hardly does so, either. “hey, my mom needs me to come home,” and he says it with a hand on chanyeol’s thigh. father sips exceptionally loud, and clears his throat. 

 

chanyeol pushes the baekhyun’s hand off, and his handprint burns his skin. “okay, yeah. do you need help gathering your stuff—?”

 

“no.” chanyeol’s father says. the two boys look at him, and chanyeol’s heart shakes. “i need to speak with you chanyeol.”

 

baekhyun leaves looking like sugar, his face pale and he quivers like a sugar-shaker, and the snow cascades around his face when he exits the door. he looks back at chanyeol through the dining room window. 

 

“father, what is it?” chanyeol mumbles, dragging his feet back to the kitchen. he hasn’t felt this wobbly in years. his mother’s sobs ring in his ears. baekhyun’s moans, too. 

 

“sit, chanyeol.” father says, and he pulls the bourbon out. there is no hiding, not when he’s about to rip all the sins from chanyeol’s inner thighs and from the veins of his heart. 

 

chanyeol goes to speak again, and his eyes are burning, blurring. “father…” 

 

“i feel so silly, chanyeol.” his father starts. he uncaps the bottle, and the glass clinks with blood piercing screams. “you were so sneaky. i thought of you as such a good boy, you know? i really did. i boasted about you at church, even though boasting isn’t right. your mother and i were so  _ proud  _ of you.”

 

“father—” 

 

“no, shut your filthy mouth, chanyeol!” the liquor bottle is slammed to the table. chanyeol begins to cry. “you’re so sick, my boy— so  _ sick _ . you’re so dirty, you’re a damned black sheep!” 

 

“it’s not wrong, father.” chanyeol whimpers out, and he digs his nails into his palm, and the pain feels better than this. better than his father stripping him raw and nude. his body aches and he wants to stand before his father—scream at him for all his wrongdoings and for hurting yoora and mother and his  _ heart.  _ he wants to yell at father for being such a fox, for breaking hearts and soaking his lungs and the pit of his stomach in lies and tobacco and alcohol. he wants to tell him god is  _ ashamed _ .  

 

“not wrong?  _ not wrong?  _ you’ve laid down with another man, for goodness sakes!  _ not wrong? _ ” his father is yelling now, and the veins in his arms are evident, gripping the glass bottle. “i’ve praised you so highly at the church, for being so kind to such a boy—i praised you and shared your good doings. now you come back around and sin right in my house, you do it without a care.” spit flicks from his father’s harsh words, and chanyeol’s tears sting his cheeks. “you’re so  _ filthy _ .”

 

chanyeol sits, all while his father gets up, digs behind the china plates, finding another bottle with clear liquid. chanyeol stands still, when his father opens the lid and throws it at chanyeol, soaking him in his seat. maybe it’s supposed to be  _ holy water _ , to cleanse him of his sins. but vodka burns his skin, scorches his eyes and he feels god shaking his head at him — and at his father. 

 

the plates are thrown, and his father begins to curse at chanyeol, and the stories that were once so convincing and beautiful shatter to the floor.

 

“you must hate god.”

  
  


❅❅❅

  
  


yoora takes chanyeol in, and baekhyun cries when he sees the bruise under chanyeol’s eye. 

 

yoora’s apartment is a good hour away, and he sleeps on the couch for a few nights. he shakes in his nightmares and remembers the sharp lines of his father’s face, the sorrow eyebags his mother carried like the pearls around her neck. they didn’t need another scandal, father’s fists, yoora’s first love and chanyeol’s sexuality enough as it is. so he packs his things, with a shaky hand squeeze from his mother and cold shoulder from his father. it’s enough, and he goes.

 

they’re putting together his room now, where yoora’s office was placed, and chanyeol never felt like such a burden until now. “noona, i’m really sorry.”

 

she hums from over a box, lifting chanyeol’s school books. “for what, chanyeol?”

 

“everything,” he says, and he’s squeezing his fists. 

 

yoora tuts her mouth, and she turns around. she’s only grown prettier, and her hair is tucked acutely behind her ear. she doesn’t wear pearls anymore, but rather flowers and sparkling gems and butterflies that show her escape, the free blood that pushes through her body. she shines, brighter than baekhyun has ever seen her do so. she looks happy.

 

“don’t be chanyeol. i love you all the same. and it’s not like i didn’t have room for you here.” she says, smiling. her teeth warm his chest. “anyways, i knew from the day they moved in. you called baekhyun  _ pretty _ .”

 

and she does remember. 

 

“thank you, noona.” he says, his cheeks burning with delight and embarrassment. “i love you.”

she grins, winks at him and flips her hair off her shoulder. “i know.”

  
  


❅❅❅

  
  


baekhyun visits whenever, it was the first rule yoora established. the best rule.

 

“i’m going out tonight,” yoora singsongs like a canary, twirling her way into the living room, where baekhyun and chanyeol sit on the couch, twiddling with the tv remote. she’s pressed up in a dress, one that flutters to the skin below her knees, heels that give her a bit more height. she wears butterflies tonight, her bracelet covered in them and her chest embroidered with a silver one, dazzling in the apartment lights.

 

“a date?” baekhyun questions, his mouth tilting. 

 

yoora makes a noise that seems to be a  _ yes _ , and she closes her eyes, smiling. “is this okay?” she spins again. she’s a princess that’s been through too much to still be glowing so bright. but yoora is strong and so precious and pretty and chanyeol is fascinated by her. 

 

“you look beautiful,” chanyeol says, and he’s grinning so big his heart hurts. he’s so  _ happy _ . “he better tell you so, too.”

 

yoora giggles, and she brings a hand to push at the hair untucked from her ear. “you’ve become quite handsome too, chanyeol-ah,” she tiptoes her way over in her black heels.

 

she leans forward and tugs at the shoulders of chanyeol’s shirt, smiling until her eyes disappear and her cheeks are ripe apples. “i think you’re finally going to be able to fit a suit. you’ll be such a handsome man of honor! baekhyun can walk with you too, a groomsman.” 

 

chanyeol bubbles out a laugh, and it pops in the air, and his cheeks heat so fast. “don’t jump to marriage, yoora. this is just a first date.”

 

she shrugs, and she leans over to kiss chanyeol atop the head. then does the same to baekhyun. “doesn’t hurt to be optimistic.” she leaves with a three finger wave, and a jingle of her keys. 

 

chanyeol and baekhyun order takeout, and they eat until their tummies are bloated and full, kissing lazily and picking up the china plate pieces, making their own stories and sealing them with tentative hands and groggy hips. 

 

“tell me something,” chanyeol says soft, his face pressed to baekhyun’s bare chest. he’s missed his stories, his voice. the static of phones don’t make up for loss of contact. don’t make up for the authentic jingle of baekhyun’s stomach-buzzing laugh. 

 

baekhyun threads his hands through chanyeol’s hair, and there’s nothing but them and their sticky bodies together, chests without worry. “like what?”

 

“anything, really.” says chanyeol.

  
  
“okay,” baekhyun hums. “i love you.” 

 

it’s the first time it’s spoken, and chanyeol lifts his head, tilts his chin up at baekhyun. his eyes burn with what is more hurt than anything—the good kind of hurt. the best kind of hurt that only comes with baekhyun and his being, and he loves him. he does he does  _ he does. _

 

chanyeol kisses him, and it’s the most intimate thing he’s ever known, and stars dazzle all over his body. “i love you too.”

❅❅❅

  
  


chanyeol believes baekhyun looks lovely in navy blue, and he’s clad in it today, graduating. he wears a grin that’s plastered ear to ear, and his mother kisses him with tears skimming down her cheeks. and he hugs her, long and tight, thanking her for the years and all that she is. she cries more, and he sheds a tear too, places a shaky kiss to his mother’s hairline. chanyeol falls deeper in love.

 

yoora gives him the bouquet this time, and he hugs her, thanks her, and asks for a moment alone with chanyeol. 

 

they’re eighteen, and they kiss before virgin mary, and chanyeol goes on and on about how proud he is of baekhyun, who just blushes and kisses him harder. 

 

they walk away hand in hand, and chanyeol smooths down baekhyun’s frisked hair, and it’s all pure and content and everything good.

 

chanyeol looks back at the statue, and she smiles at them. he smiles back. 

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading <3


End file.
